Life contained

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Containers occupy the spaces I call my life.
From the coffee mug that kicks me awake in the mornings
To the fat beer bottle that knocks me off reminding me that I am only human
and I need to call it a night.
Or a day.
I open shampoo and soap bottles to wash off the smell of cigarettes
also kept in a tin box to hide the hideous habit from the morals of the world,
juxtaposing my stand because I smoke in public anyway.
The deodorant to the lotion I apply on my skin
the first to keep it dry and the second to save it from dryness and shrivel,
And humiliation from people I do not even know, much less care about.
The clothes I put on that cover my body also conform
To the weather, to where I am going.
I travel to the office in an enclosed vehicle full of strangers
Or if I have the money with just the taxi driver and myself
So I can go to another container where I can earn back what I paid the taxi.
My office room contains my body 8-5.
My thoughts and brilliant lightbulbs are saved in a hard drive kept cool with a fan
As the machine runs after my fingers on the keyboard and deadlines.
Lunch is in a box reminding me that I need fuel
and that there are other beings aside from myself and the digital world.
I go back to a home, a structure that houses my family
And I lie on a bed that revs my body after that last bottle forcibly shuts my eyes.
We all will be in containers, anyway.
Whether it’s a coffin, an urn or a pyramid 
That holds the life we complain about,
the creatures and plants we live off on
no matter how mutated they are.
I wonder as I sit on the monoblock chair,
why the world will not end
if I do not do what I do for now, for always.
That life will go on without us, and maybe without the containers 
that epitomize our realities.
My life is in containers.
Who or what is to say that my anxiety is bigger than yours
And that your dreary is any less than mine?
The container that holds us can.
 




"I am an X in an indeterminate equation. And that X is the rock upon which I stand." - Mario Puzo

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